“You said that six months ago and nothing’s changed but a few locks on the doors of bars. We still gather in Bughouse Square, on the beaches. We’re out there and nobody is doing anything to stop it.”

“And what are you going to do when they don’t gather anymore? When you don’t have any choice but to hide?” I questioned, a wave of worry washing over me. He did not get it. He didn’t understand.

“There’s always a choice, you just have to be willing to make it,” Cal stated simply, picking up his novel. “I’m always willing to make it, Vik. I’m only worried you won’t be able to.”

Worry. We were worried. At least we had that in common.

22

October 1935

There was only so much bullshit a person could take, and as I stared into my bowl of Rice Krispies, I knew I had reached my threshold. It was an interesting study in resilience to see what it was that pushed people over the edge. Some could endure hell and push forward for more, while others barely tolerated the first burn. Closing my eyes, I tried to gather myself, to realize what I was about to do was a gross overreaction. While I had mechanisms to mitigate outbursts, I knew I had come to the point where resistance had become futile. There was no turning back.

Removing the spoon from my cereal bowl, I placed it on the table, gnashing my teeth into my lower lip. I needed it. It would be a release; I needed a release. Whether it was a good idea or not, it was happening. Without another moment’s consideration, I launched the bowl across the room, watching puffs of rice rain down to the carpet as it torpedoed to the wall. It hit with a thud, immediately cracking into several pieces from the force. As the ceramic split, I heard Cal’s voice cry, “really?” as if he couldn’t fathom why the hell I had hurled the bowl across the room.

Wordlessly, I stood up and walked into the bedroom, steeling myself for the barrage of questions I knew were coming. I had never done well with frustration. There was so little I cared enough to get distressed about, but the things that got to me struck nerves I often forgot I had. Take the Cubs for instance, though I never wavered in my devotion to the team, I had grown used to them disappointing me, so when they inevitably did, I was mostly numb. My father and brother were another example. They annoyed me with their meshugas, but they didn’t surprise me anymore. After they had pummeled and pissed on the “family motto,” there wasn’t a lot left to get frustrated with.